


I Were The Heavens

by copperbadge



Series: The Lo-Verse [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Future, Child Soldiers, Future Fic, Gen, PTSD, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-06
Updated: 2009-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sixteen-year-old boy from Boeshane is going to win the war. The Time Agency has a vested interest in children like him -- and so does the Admiral of the Fleet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Were The Heavens

**Author's Note:**

> Please see tags for warnings.

The boy walked with a soldier's swagger, though he couldn't have been fully out of adolescence yet. Not a march, precisely; back stiff, shoulders set, a cocky tilt of the hips as he moved. Part of it was surely the nuskin bandages that Levy knew were strapped tightly around the boy's ribcage, extending up along the left side of his neck and down his half-mangled right arm. 

"You wanted to see me, sir," the boy said, standing to attention in front of the table. 

"Sit down," Levy replied, kicking a chair out for the boy to sit in. Brown hair, bright eyes. Someone's darling. A heartbreaker already. "What's your name, kid?"

"Lo," the boy said. 

"No surname?"

"No, sir."

"How long's your colony been out?"

The boy shrugged, a difficult maneuver. "My parents a -- my parents were second-generation."

"What's your colony?"

"Boeshane," with a proud note in his voice. 

"Lo Boeshane," Levy noted it in the digital pad. "Your parents are dead?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any family I can contact for you?"

The boy gave him a grim smile. "No family, sir."

"Friends? Godparents?"

"You'd know better than I would, sir. I haven't seen Boeshane since my mother died. I hear it was strafed."

"Not as badly as some. When did your mother die?"

"Two years ago, standard time."

"You should make up a list of people who might still want to hear about you. At least let me know what county you were settled in."

"Peninsula, sir. South County."

Levy smiled. "I hear there's good fishing in South County."

The boy just watched him. Levy sighed. Around them, doctors and nurses and fellow patients were covertly watching -- bending to their meals, whispering to each other, tipping their heads. _That's the boy. That's Admiral Levy. What do you think he knows?_

"Do you know who I am, Lo?" Levy asked.

"Admiral Levy, sir. Hundred and thirty-first fleet. Last news we had was that you were in combat two systems over from us."

"You're young to be a soldier. What division were you with?"

"Forty-third."

"Guerillas. Not surprising. They shanghai kids now?"

"We volunteered." Lo's uninjured hand spasmed -- a tight clench and a forced relax. "I volunteered."

"Forty-third's been destroyed. Presumed, anyway."

"I can confirm that."

"I think you can confirm more than that, Lo Boeshane," Levy said, giving him a level stare. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"I didn't think Admirals generally gave debriefings," Lo said sardonically. 

"You flew a captured Fleet fighter out of an enemy carrier ten minutes before the Fleet blew it to hell," Levy said bluntly. 

"Yes, sir, I did." The boy took a scribepad out of his pocket. 

Levy waved it off. "It can wait."

"With all due respect, sir -- "

"I know what the doctors and the other soldiers have told you, but believe me, it can wait an hour. I want to hear what happened from your mouth first."

Lo nodded and swallowed. "We were flying a small operation, bombing the Flyers in scouts."

"Fleet issue?"

"Salvage."

"Rustbuckets."

Lo gave him a sudden, bright grin. "Yes _sir_."

"Go on."

"The Flyers crippled the right engine and pulled us in. Me, my copilot, two other ships that I saw. The last thing we saw was the carrier taking fire. Most of the forty-third was on board. Couple of scouts might have got away."

"You were actually in a Flyer ship."

"Yes, sir."

"You know a lot of people will think you're telling a lie."

Lo shrugged. "Fuck 'em."

"What happened next?"

"We popped the cockpit when we got inside and..." Lo gave a bitter laugh. "We tried to _run._ Like we were going to get somewhere. Me, my copilot, and our wing captain were taken to a holding cell and isolated. The specs are on the scribe."

"You've seen Flyers, actually seen what they look like?"

Lo nodded soberly. 

"Well?"

"They're a little taller than us, generally, from what I saw. Tripedal, with one retractable limb. Four claws on each foot. Round trunk, three muscular boneless extensions at the top with prehensile flanges, optical organs in the trunk. They speak using a membrane with an outer tongue," Lo said, and lifted his head, lowering his jaw. He moved his tongue against his upper palate, demonstrating. "No teeth," he added, lowering his head.

"Did you see your copilot and captain again?"

Lo's eyes flickered. "We could hear each other through the walls. They weren't really right walls, more like barriers. Like we were in the same room but couldn't see each other. The Flyers came for the wing captain first. I don't know what they did to him. He didn't come back."

"And your copilot?"

That same odd spasm. Lo looked away.

"I don't think that's relevant, Admiral."

"Why don't you let me decide what's relevant, Lo."

"Because you haven't seen them, sir, and you don't know what I know," Lo replied. His eyes were cold and flat. Levy decided to humour the kid.

"What do you know, then?" he asked. 

"I know how you can win the war, _sir._ "

Levy sat up a little. "You know their weak point? Ship vulnerability?"

The boy shook his head. "Their ships don't have vulnerabilities."

"So you're saying they don't _have_ weak points."

"Not technologically," Lo said. "Physiologically."

"If we can't get to them -- "

"Sir, if there's anything being _captured_ and _tortured_ and the only person ever to fly away from a Flyer ship has taught me, it's that you don't need to breach a hull to destroy something," Lo snapped. He could have been a militia drill sergeant, dressing down a recruit. His voice cracked like a whip. 

Levy drew in a breath. "You were tortured, son?"

"I'm a Corporal, Admiral. I'm not your goddamn son," Lo snarled. "Do you want to win the war?"

"No, _Corporal_ , I thought I'd like to lose it and let the Flyers just have their fun with my entire race," Levy snarled back. 

"Then you're doing a fucking great job of it."

Levy waited for Lo to realise what he'd said, to stop breathing hard and ease back into his chair slightly, before he continued.

"I want to win this war as much as you do, Corporal," he said. Lo lifted his chin a little at the use of his rank. "What do you know?"

Lo drummed his fingers on the table and leaned forward. He began to talk, and after a few seconds Levy began to listen. 

It was a badly-told story, leaping from point to point with no logical links inbetween, but with all of the information it made sense. And it was very useful. At the end of it, Lo was shaking. A doctor wandered over, seemingly at random, and placed a hand on Lo's good arm.

"I think that's enough for now, Admiral," she said softly. "The boy's still healing, and he needs his rest."

Lo watched Levy carefully until the Admiral nodded.

"Go and sleep, Corporal," he said. "In the morning I want you to meet some friends of mine. You've done well. I'll contact the authorities on the peninsula and let them know where you are."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh nine hundred tomorrow. Eat a good breakfast," Levy nodded, and watched as the doctor led Lo away, casually sliding her hand down his arm to twine her fingers in his. 

***

The next morning, Corporal Lo Boeshane presented himself at the Admiral's temporary office in service greys. Levy didn't ask where he'd got them. His insignia cords and pilot's straps were crisp and perfectly fitted, hair brushed and clipped in a style closer to guerilla than Fleet, but after all that was what Lo was. He looked like he was about thirteen years old. 

"Officers," Levy said, turning to the screen on the wall where most of the Fleet's brass were tele'd in. "This is Corporal Lo, forty-third guerilla militia out of Boeshane."

"Officers," Lo said crisply. 

"How old -- " one of them began, and Levy cleared his throat sharply.

"The Corporal comes to us as the only survivor of Flyer...hospitality. He has some pertinent observations and is to be treated as an intelligence consultant. Questions will be taken after he is finished. Corporal...?"

Lo gave him a nod of acknowledgement and faced the screen. 

"I spent two months on a Flyer ship," he said. "I interacted with them constantly. I began to notice that I rarely saw the same Flyer more than two or three times, and they seemed to have a high mortality rate outside of combat. Flyers breed like fu -- like rabbits, and they die constantly. They have very fast reflexes, which is probably how they've been able to outmaneuver us. They seem to live sped-up lives."

He glanced at Levy, who gave him an encouraging look.

"Flyer lifespan is about a week and a half, two weeks tops. I did not escape from the Flyer ship. They let me go. I believe they eventually released me because they had forgotten how long I had been there. After...certain events, I was left alone for long periods of time."

One of the strategic commanders extended his fingers in a silent request. Lo nodded at her.

"How do they manage such a high level of continuous technology if that's the case?" she asked.

"Time from birth to maturity is almost nonexistent. Information is passed on quickly. The younger learn from the older. But if you've got five generations passing in two months, things can get a little...warped," Lo said. 

"How does this help us, Corporal?"

Lo looked like he was trying to be patient with a small child. "If information isn't constantly reinforced it gets lost. They didn't see me all the time so they forgot I was a threat. They probably thought I was too infirm to do them any harm, given how long I'd lived. To them."

"Tell them what you suggest, Lo," Levy said softly.

"If we continue to constantly attack them they'll continue to remember that we're a threat," Lo said. "They have superior firepower and technology."

"We can't very well stop attacking them," a Fleet commander burst out.

"Nosir, I know that," Lo replied. "But if we focus our efforts on defending the colonies and ships, they'll forget we have offensive capability. They'll think all we can do is defend. If we pull back and blockade them from the colonies for a year -- even six months -- when we attack again they'll be totally blindsided." 

There was silence from the conferenced brass. Levy let it spool out, pleased that Lo didn't speak either. 

"How do we know they haven't broken you?" an Admiral in dress blacks finally asked. "Planted this idea in your head?"

"It does seem to put us at a disadvantage for the next six months," the tactician added. 

"You don't," Lo replied. The tactician frowned.

"Admiral, would you dismiss the corporal for a moment?" she asked. 

"Go on, Lo. I'll call you back when we're ready for you."

"Officers," Lo said, and left the room. Levy turned to the waiting faces.

"This can't be true, Levy -- " "He's just a child -- " "He might be lying for the hell of it -- "

"Excuse me," the tactician interrupted. 

"Go ahead, Ania," Levy said. 

"I have an idea. We can test the boy's theory easily; we'll set a blockade up at Boeshane. The whole Boe system, if we need to, it's only one system and they already have a toehold there. Test it out for a month, see what happens. Don't tell the boy. Set up another blockade with orders to attack if the Flyers buzz it. If they think their plot has worked, they won't be expecting the offensive. We can tell from their tactical reactions whether they anticipated blockades. If Lo's story is true, his advice is sound. He's one hell of a find, Levy."

"I'm aware," Levy replied. 

"I'll make the arrangements. Tut!" she added, when the others moved to speak again. "Might I remind you I'm strategist for this entire sector. You can obey me or you can resign."

"Ania -- " several voices began, and she shushed them. 

"We are doing this, officers. Levy, pleasure as always. Commandant Ania out."

One by one the faces winked off the screen. Levy opened the door and jerked his head. Lo rose from his seat on the bench across the hall and hurried inside. 

"I can't actually tell you what their decision was," he said, when Lo glanced curiously at the darkened screen. "But I'll be leaving soon. I want all the specs you have, technological and physical, before I depart."

"What about me, sir?" Lo asked. Levy blinked at him.

"What about you?"

"My orders, Admiral."

"Your _orders?_ "

"I'm not decommissioned."

Levy shook his head. "You are going to stay here, Corporal, and heal and rest. You're overdue for shore leave, for a start."

"But I want -- "

"I'm sorry, was the military interested in what you _wanted?_ " 

Lo bowed his head. "No. Sir," he said venomously.

"I'll be back for you in a month. Stay out of trouble. Play a hologame or something. You're sixteen, Corporal. Try to act your age."

"Sir."

"I didn't hear you, Corporal."

"Yes, sir."

"Better. Dismissed. Lo -- " he added, as the boy turned to go. 

"Sir?"

"Good job."

Lo turned away. "Good job doesn't bring my copilot back, sir."

Then he was gone.

***

A month later, an odd newsbite bolted across the net about a huge rout of Flyer ships at Boeshu, one planet out from Boeshane. Lo was eating breakfast when he saw it, and he smiled. He'd had pals who'd died at the first siege of Boeshu; he imagined their ghosts fighting behind the Fleet ships, in wispy white ghost rustbuckets, and the image pleased him. 

Two hours later, Admiral Levy sat down next to him on a couch in the hospital library and rested his arms on his legs, lacing fingers in the space between, eyes straight ahead. Lo, facing him, watched curiously.

"You have a decision to make, Lo Boeshane," Levy said quietly. "One choice means that two years from now, the entire galaxy will know your name."

"I don't know that I want the galaxy to know my name," Lo said cautiously. 

"Uncommonly wise."

"Thank you, sir."

"The other choice is not appealing, I think. On my recommendation, you will be demobbed -- "

"Demobbed!" Lo said, outraged. "But I wa..."

He shut his mouth with a snap when Levy turned his head.

"You will be demobbed with a medical discharge under the auspices of the hundred and thirty-first. You will join the next medical transit ship to the Home System."

Lo bit his tongue trying not to talk. The Home System was eight or nine systems away. He'd never get back to the fighting. 

"You will be entered as a third-year student at Quantico Station. Do you know what Quantico Station is?"

"F...Fleet Officer Training," Lo said, struggling to get the words out. 

"That's correct. I thought you might bypass the shoe-shining and floor-scrubbing and go straight to the military history and command training. FOT Quantico will babysit you for two years. By then the war will either be won or the Flyers will have reached the Home System and we will all be dead. If you breathe a word of what I just said to a soul, you'll find yourself inconveniently airlocked."

Lo nodded. 

"At the end of your second year you will be offered a commission with the Fleet and you will turn it down."

"...I will?" Lo asked carefully.

"Yes. And here is why," Levy said, turning to face him fully. "If you do well at Quantico there will be a fully paid veteran's scholarship waiting for you with the Agency Academy on the Cascade Rift. You will accept the Agency scholarship and after a year of training with the Agency you will accept a commission as a Time Agent. Have I made myself clear?"

"Why?" Lo blurted. 

Levy smiled at him.

"What do you think I am, Lo?" he said, and pulled up the long sleeve of his dress blacks. There was a thin leather strap underneath. Lo stared at it. 

"The Agency has a vested interest in children who win wars," Levy said. "Not so much in children who want to be famous."

Lo chewed on his lip. "Three more years of school," he said.

"I doubt Quantico will be much of a trial. A little history, some refinement on your piloting, whatever language and mathematics you missed by volunteering before your voice broke. Lots of fun to be had, though. Pretty boys and girls in cute uniforms," he added with a smile. Lo smiled hesitantly back. "The Time Agency takes only the most elite students. And then all of space and time will lie at your feet. A fair reward. Fairer than being an aging poster boy for a war people will have forgotten by the time you're thirty."

He carefully laid two objects on the couch between them. A passport on Lo's left, a pilot's armstrap on Lo's right. 

Lo thought of his copilot, tortured to death in front of him. He thought about being famous for being the one who didn't die. He thought about how you couldn't chase ghosts forever.

He picked up the passport.

"Good man," Levy said. "Your transport leaves tomorrow morning. With any luck, I'll see you at your Quantico graduation."

"Sir," Lo said, studying the passport. _Lo Boshane. Student. Planet of Origin, Boeshane. Peninsula. South County._

"I didn't hear you, Corporal."

"Yes, sir," Lo repeated dutifully.

Levy collected the armstrap and left. 

***

A tall, ginger-haired man was standing in Levy's quarters when he arrived from the library. 

_Such_ a fashion victim. Black twenty-first century trousers with fraying cuffs, leather boots, white tunic (late twenty-eighth from the look of it), and a perfect windsor-knotted black necktie over the tunic's banded collar. 

"You're mucking about with time," the Doctor said. Levy sighed and dropped into a chair, propping his feet on the table. 

"It's what I do," he replied. 

"You know how dangerous -- "

"It's interesting," Levy continued, casually, as if the Doctor hadn't spoken. "When I was at the Time Agency -- first time round -- it wasn't any secret that an Admiral had taken an interest in me. There were remarks made about how alike we looked. It's the jawline, I think. Anyway, plenty of people thought he was my father. Hell, by the time I grew out of gangly and into the perfection you see before you," (the Doctor snorted), "I half-believed it. It's not like parentage really mattered by then. I thought it would have been nice to have a father," he added wistfully.

"What have you done?"

"Nothing that I hadn't already. I looked Levy up, the real Levy," Levy said, undoing the buttons on his dress-black coat. "He died four years ago, but I know he's the one who sent me to the Agency. So I jumped back a year or two, stepped into his place, hid the body, claimed I was him and I'd had reconstruction because I was feeling old. Mortals will buy anything if you say it with a smile."

"You're _talking_ to a mortal, Jack Harkness," the Doctor pointed out. 

"Well, some mortals, then," Levy answered. "This is what happened. Sometimes you own time, sometimes you're time's bitch. I have to do it because I did it because I do it because I have to do it. But keep your innocence if you want to, gorgeous. It suits you."

"Jack -- "

Levy stood up, circled the table, and got as close as he dared. The Doctor didn't recoil. Getting mellow in his dotage, perhaps. Or perhaps just getting used to the universal constant.

"Call me Lo," he said. 

The Doctor arched an eyebrow.

"Lo Boeshane," the Doctor replied. 

"Lo Boeshane. Unsung hero of the Flyer war, Quantico valedictorian, Time Agency scoundrel -- Doctor's companion -- Torchwood's lapdog, Torchwood's bulldog, Torchwood's top dog, Managing director of the Library, King of Gethane System, executed as a traitor in the Planetary Civil War, Colonist of Deshane, Professor of Earth History at Kethsai University, Admiral of the Fleet."

"Quite the resume."

"I get around."

"Yes, I know."

Levy grinned. "I know how it feels. Like an itch in the back of your head, like a wrongness. It's not for very long, though. Blink of an eye to me. Don't like it, jump on three years. Lo Boeshane the Younger will be on his chosen path, and I'll be history, very literally."

"This is a dangerous time, Lo. Living two lives simultaneously."

Levy leaned close and kissed the Doctor, just below the temple. "Always looking out for us humans." He leaned back and smiled. "Go on with you, kid. Catch up in a few years."

"Don't think I won't," the Doctor answered, pointing a finger at him.

"I look forward to it. Say hello to Jenny for me."

"I will, when I see her next. Goodbye, Lo."

"G'bye, Doctor. Catch you around."

"You always do," the Doctor said. Levy watched him step inside the TARDIS (scrunched into a corner in a way that shouldn't be possible) and listened to the familiar, pleasant whine of its disappearing. 

Then he went to find dinner, and maybe the companionship of that doctor he'd had a fling with the first time round. 

END

_Star of my life, to the stars your face is turned;_  
Would I were the heavens, looking back at you with ten thousand eyes.  
\-- Plato


End file.
